Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin! - Chapter 215: Bitcoin Withdrawal

Chinese fringe international Licado became the alien Ronaldo’s half-brother in 2002.

This is a nearly omnipotent Ronaldo who has not been plagued by injuries.

As a huge fan of Ronaldo, Licado is his biggest supporter?

And when he himself picked up the Golden Globe for the first time said, “He [Ronaldo] didn’t lose to me, he wouldn’t lose to anyone,” . He just lost to time … ”

Without a system, without a golden finger, rebirth is his greatest luck.

- Description from Novelupdates

One sentence introduction: She reconciled with herself by virtue of her performance.

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When she was about to die, she “traveled” through the apocalypse, and after 30 years of hard work, she was finally reborn by tearing down the system, but was planted with the seeds of murderous manic depression. Since then, there has been an additional villain professional in the entertainment industry, with superb acting skills, and has repeatedly won the crown of the best actor.

Key words: women disguised as men, dramas in dramas, fanboys, Hanwen Copywriters

- Description from novelbuddy

When an ordinary gamer wakes up in the body of Ellen Joe, a high schooler and an elite member of Victoria Housekeeping Co., life takes a bizarre turn. Known for tackling everything from cleaning and yardwork to securing rare items and fighting off monsters, the company operates more like a covert squad than a housekeeping service.Caught between school deadlines and deadly Hollow missions, the protagonist struggles to maintain Ellen’s demanding dual life. Armed with Ellen’s ice-infused scissors and sharp wit, they navigate a world of high-stakes combat and meticulous chores while trying to keep their true identity hidden. But as Ellen’s habits and instincts creep into their own, the line between their life and hers begins to blur.

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.